


Lay down your arms

by chick_with_wifi



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, the sweet/vicious au nobody asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-14 03:07:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10527549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chick_with_wifi/pseuds/chick_with_wifi
Summary: “What is this ‘Shaw’ like?”“Extremely talented, if lacking a little in social graces,” replied Finch. “I recruited her last year after witnessing the full extent of her skills in the field.”“And the other one, ‘Root’?”Finch slowly took a sip of his green tea. “Very...determined. Her hacking prowess is unparalleled.”“When did you recruit her?”“Recruit is rather a strong way of putting it.”“How so?”“She strolled through the front doors and asked for an application form.”“I see. These two sound like the perfect team for Northern Lights.”-In which Root and Shaw are vigilantes, Finch is clueless and the Machine is perceptive.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic contains potentially triggering material. I will put a detailed warning at the end to avoid spoilers. Just click on the 'more notes' link below to be taken to the warning.

Harold Finch sat at his desk, china cup of sencha green tea in his hand, and waited patiently for the phone to ring.

He was expecting his boss to make contact at any moment to discuss how they would go about the next stage of their plan to eliminate crime in New York City. There was a specific gang that had been giving them a lot of trouble - known as Samaritan - and Finch’s boss had instructed him to set up a team to take them down.

Nobody had actually ever seen his boss, Ernest Thornhill, and his online footprint was nearly nonexistent.

But Thornhill was never wrong and always made sure Finch’s people were at the right place at the right time.

So Finch never questioned it.

Of course, the thought had crossed his mind once or twice. But he always quickly dismissed it. What they were doing was an absolute good and he wasn't about to put that at risk.

His phone rang and he swiped the screen to answer, then put it on speaker and set the device on his antique mahogany desk.

“Can you hear me?” asked the calm, modest voice of Ernest Thornhill.

“Yes,” Finch replied. “How can I help?”

“I believe you have some people who you feel would be suitable for the specialised task force I told you about.”

Finch cleared his throat and brought up two personnel files on his computer. If Thornhill approved then he would email the files to him. Although, at times it almost seemed that his boss was permanently watching over him. 

On the first file, Shaw’s stony glare gave him momentary pause even through a computer screen. And Root’s cheerful grin didn't quite do justice to her feline-esque self-righteousness, but her photograph looked like it could just as easily be a mugshot.

“I do. Code names ‘Shaw’ and ‘Root’.”

“What is this ‘Shaw’ like?”

“Extremely talented, if lacking a little in social graces,” replied Finch. “I recruited her last year after witnessing the full extent of her skills in the field.”

“And the other one, ‘Root’?”

Finch slowly took a sip of his green tea. “Very...determined. Her hacking prowess is unparalleled.”

“When did you recruit her?”

“Recruit is rather a strong way of putting it.”

“How so?”

“She strolled through the front doors and asked for an application form.”

“I see. These two sound like the perfect team for Northern Lights.”

Finch opened his mouth, a caution on the tip of his tongue. Root and Shaw were both very strong personalities and he wasn't entirely convinced that pairing them up would be wise.

But he thought better of it and closed his mouth. Let it be somebody else's problem, he had more than enough to deal with.

That was his first mistake.

-

Old pop music was playing over the tinny overhead speakers as Shaw entered the seedy and inconspicuous downtown bar. 

With practiced eyes she scanned the patrons of the bar, searching for her target. She’d received a time, a place and a photograph along with the word ‘talk’ via an anonymous text a few hours previously. 

That was how the instructions normally came and she was told where to be and what type of crime to prevent. But this message indicated her mission today was something different. So Shaw was on high alert.

After scoping out the tables, she looked over to the bar and saw the back of a woman who she assumed had to be her new friend. Dark brown curls and a blue dress. She glanced at the mirror facing the bar to get a closer look, but the woman made direct eye contact with her reflection. For a split second, it made Shaw pause in her tracks. But the woman just smiled and took a sip of her drink while still looking at Shaw.

Shaw purposefully strode towards the bar. But as she did the woman spun her chair around to face her while crossing her legs and performing the world’s worst wink. She had a fancy, unnaturally-coloured cocktail with a little umbrella in one hand. But her eyes had an intelligence and curiosity to them that Shaw rarely came across.

“Did you rehearse that?” Shaw asked as she sat down next to the woman and waved for the bartender to come over.

The woman smiled. “Just the once.” She extended her hand. “Call me Root.”

Shaw took her hand and they shook once firmly, like businessmen. “Shaw.”

“I already know your name,” Root said.

“Whiskey, neat,” Shaw said to the bartender who nodded and left to make her drink.

“We have a mutual friend,” Root explained. “Well that, and the fact that I read your file.” She smiled again, this time even wider. “I’m kind of a big fan.”

Shaw didn't know whether to be proud of creeped out. So she just ignored that part and moved on. “Did your friend tell you what we're meant to be doing here?”

Root tossed her hair and leaned forwards, resting her elbows on the counter and clasping her hands under her chin. “See that blonde woman sat behind us?”

Looking at the table behind her out of the corner of her eye, Shaw nodded.

“She looks nice enough. But she lies on her taxes, she's addicted to painkillers and for years she's been sleeping with a married man.” Root rested her clasped hands on the counter. “But she's not why we're here.”

Shaw did a slight double take. “Wait, what?”

“You see, my friend knows an awful lot. And I am the only person she tells it all to.”

“What about Finch?”

Root almost laughed, but managed to downgrade it to a scoff. “He has the relationship with her that he wanted. My relationship is more...intimate.”

“Sorry I asked,” Shaw muttered.

Root ignored her and said, “You are here because my friend thinks we would make a good team. How would you feel about saving the world, Sameen?”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“October 2, 1998. You took a road trip with your father to watch the Houston Oilers play the Philadelphia Eagles. He bought you a sweatshirt that you wore every day for the next month.” 

“Your friend told you that?”

“My friend is never wrong.”

Shaw downed her whiskey in one sip, raising her eyebrows as it burned her throat. “When do we start?”

-

“I’ve been here for the past few weeks,” Root said as she used a keycard to open the hotel room door. “Don't worry, there's a second bed.”

Shaw followed her in and looked over the room, which was fairly large but didn't have the slightest piece of clutter anywhere. 

The only luggage Root seemed to have was the black leather bag she was carrying. Neither of the beds looked like they had been slept in, but Root threw her bag onto one of them and said, “I need a shower. You can make yourself at home and order room service.”

Without another word, she went into the bathroom and Shaw sat on the other bed, picking up the room service menu to read. The prices were outrageous, but she assumed it would be charged to the room and somebody else would pay. Either Root or Finch.

She ordered a club sandwich for herself and debated whether to get anything for Root. She hadn't mentioned wanting anything, but in the end Shaw ordered her a grilled cheese.

She had no idea how long if had been since Root had last eaten and it wasn't wise to drink on an empty stomach. Plus, if Root didn't want it then it was more food for Shaw.

A little while later, Root returned in a fluffy white towel and got a hot pink travel hairdryer out of her bag, then began drying her hair.

Shaw didn't know whether she was meant to look away or not. Root obviously didn't care and there was barely any of her on display, but Shaw was uncomfortable with the situation so turned her back and read through the hotel guest information booklet.

Root switched off the hairdryer and there was some rustling which was presumably her getting changed. “Shaw?” she asked.

Shaw put down the booklet and turned round again. Root was wearing dark jeans and a black bra. An angry, puckered red scar was visible on her right shoulder, half-healed and scarring terribly. Even though Shaw had been kicked out of med school, she began to think of ways she could help it. Stitches and a good clean would probably work wonders.

Root, still unconcerned and nonchalant, pulled on a wine red shirt then picked something up off the bed and fiddled behind her right ear while saying, “I don't know how long we will be here, but it will definitely be less than a day so you probably won't need a change of clothes or anything.” 

“OK,” Shaw replied. “I don't suppose you know why we are actually here?”

“We need to steal a briefcase from somebody at dinner tonight,” Root replied calmly. “And find out what he’s up to.”

Shaw smiled. “So it's gonna be that kind of party, huh? It’s been a while since some good, old fashioned recon.”

“Yeah,” Root said with a grin. 

Shaw checked the booklet again, which said that dinner was at six, in four hours. There was a knock at the door and Root paused, hand twitching towards her bag.

“It’ll be the room service,” Shaw said. “I’ll get it.”

“Right.” Root relaxed and carried on with whatever it was that she was doing.

Shaw answered the door and thanked the hotel assistant. Then she wheeled the tray into the bedroom and sat on the bed to eat her sandwich. “I didn't know if you wanted anything so I ordered you a grilled cheese,” she said. 

Root blinked as if she didn't know what to do with that information. Then seemed to come back to herself and said, “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

They both ate their sandwiches, but Root only had about half of hers and said Shaw could finish it it she wanted.

Then she got up and sat at the desk. “Shaw, come pick my nail polish.” She had neatly laid out bottles of black, gold and red nail polish.

“Umm...black?” Shaw suggested skeptically.

“Good choice.” 

Root sat and quietly painted her nails while Shaw watched something on the television, not really paying attention. She was thinking about her orders. Finch - at least she thought it was Finch, he had never denied or confirmed this so she didn't ask - sent her self deleting texts and she obeyed them, but this latest mission was by far the strangest one she had ever been given.

Still, Samaritan had to be stopped so she decided to go with the flow. Root might be slightly crazy, but she knew what she was doing.

-

“Your eyeliner is smudged,” Root said, handing Shaw a small handmirror.

Shaw opened her mouth to say she wasn't even wearing eyeliner so how could it be smudged, when Root leaned closer and whispered, “See that briefcase two tables behind you?”

Shaw opened the mirror and pretended to be checking her makeup while looking at the table Root told her. A wrinkly old man was sitting at it with a briefcase at his feet. Opposite him was a young, blonde woman. Both of their suit jackets had a bulge in one side that had to be a gun.What the hell did Root have planned?

“When it's time, you need to steal it.”

“But how will I -”

“You’ll know,” Root said.

Shaw shrugged and ate her ridiculously expensive steak while Root picked at a salad.

“So,” Root said. “How did you get recruited to this team?”

“A few years ago, my dad and I were very nearly in a car accident. Finch got our numbers because there was a drunk driver who passed out at the wheel of the car behind us. But I told my dad to get out of the car and run to safety. Then I leapt out as well and ran to the car behind and, because the window was open, I reached in through it and emergency braked the car so nobody got hurt. Finch witnessed the whole thing and hired me on the spot.”

Root said, “Fascinating. But how on earth did you keep pace with a car?”

“I used to be really into sports and stuff. Are you a sporty person?”

“Sports aren't my thing. I used to have a friend who liked winter sports, skiing and stuff, but I don't think I could ever do what you did.”

Near the end of their meal, a waiter came to refill their drinks and Root told him, “You might want to sit down.” Then she raised her eyebrows and pointed towards the air vent.

Then she produced two gas masks from under the table (which could only have been in her bag, was it the TARDIS or something?) and handed one to Shaw while putting the other on herself.

Then a pale gas began to filter into the room and the waiter collapsed, dropping his jug of juice onto the carpet.

Shaw decided that had to be the signal, so walked over to the aforementioned table and picked up the briefcase, kicking the unconscious man in the shins for good measure.

Then she met Root at the door, who had apparently stolen somebody's phone and was typing furiously on it. A frown was beginning to form on her face and she was biting her bottom lip. But when she noticed Shaw, she put it in her jeans pocket and fixed a smile on her face. 

“You got it, good work. Let's get out of here.”

Then she led the way outside and hotwired a grey Ford that was parked near the door.

“Is now the time when I ask what’s in that briefcase?” Shaw asked as Root drove them towards their next destination.

“A chip.”

“What sort of chip?”

“The sort that runs a computer.”

“Are you this annoying with everyone or am I just lucky?” Shaw asked in exasperation.

Root tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “The less you know about all this, the safer you'll be.”

“I don't want to be safe, I want to know what I’m involved in,” Shaw said. “How can I protect us if I don't know what I’m protecting us from?”

“Alright, Sameen,” Root said quietly. “Stealing that chip prevented another supercomputer from being built.”

“Another supercomputer? As in, there is already one?”

“The one we work for. Our mutual friend, Ernest Thornhill.”

“Thornhill? Isn't he the guy Finch works for?”

Root smiled cryptically. “Some might say he’s a she.”

-

Root drove them to a safehouse with two bedrooms where they spent the night. Shaw found herself getting a surprisingly good sleep, and woke to find Root already up and sitting at one of the windows with a pair of binoculars.

“What are you doing?” Shaw asked eventually, after standing in the doorway for almost a minute waiting for Root to notice her.

There was no response. Shaw followed her gaze out of the window and saw an older man in a checked shirt and old jeans walking down the street. Root seemed completely absorbed in what she was doing and she looked incredibly tired, which made Shaw wonder if she had actually been asleep or if she had stayed there all night.

When Root still didn't respond, Shaw came and sat on the floor next to her. “Who are we observing?”

Root stiffened and exclaimed, “Sameen!”

When she lowered the binoculars, Shaw noticed large bags and a slightly haunted look in her eyes. Shaw was beginning to get worried about her. Something was obviously eating away at Root. The use of her first name also concerned Shaw, but she assumed creepily extensive personal knowledge was part of the package known as Root. 

“I’ve been there for a few minutes but you weren't responding,” Shaw said. “Anyway, who is this dude you're spying on?”

“Sorry,” Root said, fishing something out of her pocket and putting it in her ear. “I took my hearing aid out. Still getting used to this.” 

Then she handed Shaw the binoculars and pointed at the man. “That's Trent Russell,” Root explained. “He’s our latest number. I have reason to believe he is a perpetrator and we need  
to keep a close eye on him.”

“Uhuh,” Shaw said absently. She couldn't see anything suspicious about him, but Root probably knew more than her.

After a few seconds, she handed the binoculars back to Root and said, “I just need to go freshen up.”

Root nodded and carried on watching Trent Russell.

Shaw went into the bathroom to wash her face and redo her ponytail, but that was all she was able to do.

While she was there, her phone rang. “Hello?”

“Miss Shaw?”

“Finch?”

“Yes. Your device’s location tells me you are at a safehouse. Is Miss Groves - Root - with you?”

“Yeah. She said that we had to steal a briefcase from somebody to stop Samaritan,” Shaw said.

“Correct. I trust you were successful?”

“We were. And now we’re scouting out some guy called Trent Russell.”

“But...that is not part of the mission Thornhill gave you.”

Shaw frowned. “Root said he’s our new number.”

There was some tapping as Finch did something on his computer. “We have never received his number. I sug-”

“OK.” Shaw hung up and went through to the living room where Root was still sitting. 

“Root?” Shaw called. She didn't want to confront her friend, but she needed answers.

“Shaw?” Root’s face lit up with a tired smile as she noticed Shaw.

“I just got a call from Finch. He said Trent Russell isn't a number. So why did you lie to me?”

Root looked at her with the most miserable expression Shaw had ever seen on another person, then broke down crying. Great heaving sobs, tears streaming unchecked down her face. “Because,” she said between gasps for air. “He killed my friend. He used Hanna’s social media to track when we went skiing in Alaska. He took a gun and shot her.” Her voice broke and she paused, panting. “But he fired it right next to my ear and damaged my hearing, hence:” she pitifully waved a hand at where her hearing aid was just visible beneath her hair.

“And he never got caught,” Root said. She had stopped crying, and her voice took on a bitter and dangerous edge. “So I got into computers to try and find a way of proving it was him. Then I heard in the news about a similar situation where the girl was saved. I investigated and found out about a lot of crimes being prevented, and figured it had to be an artificial intelligence. A little over a year later, I met Her. She told me about Finch’s team and I got myself recruited.

“Then I met you, Sameen, and knew I needed your help. Not only to stop Samaritan, but to give Trent what he deserves. Please, Sameen. Will you help me?”

Shaw looked at Root and thought. She thought about her job, about criminals never getting caught and about the woman in front of her.

She thought. Then she decided.

“Sure.”


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for mentions of murder, rape/sexual assault and death.

“Should we tie him up just in case?” Root asked, tilting her head to one side and looking down at the boy groaning in pain on the ground at her feet.

“I think he got the message,” Shaw said, her voice, like Root’s, distorted by the mask she was wearing. “Didn't you, Jeremy?” She poked his ribs with her toe for good measure.

He let out an anguished cry and said, “Yes I get it! I’ll never touch a girl as long as I live just please don't kill me!”

Root squatted down and grabbed him by the shirt. “Oh, Jeremy,” she said quietly, made more menacing by the electronic voice. “We aren't going to kill you. But go against your word and we will find you. And next time, we won't stop.”

His eyes widened in terror then Root abruptly let go of him and walked away, heels clicking on the concrete.

Shaw gave Jeremy one last dirty look and walked away, asking Root. “So, who is our next -” she trailed off as she realised Root was nowhere in sight. 

She turned back and saw Jeremy climb to his feet and run in the same direction that Root had gone, so Shaw sprinted after him. He ran surprisingly fast for somebody who had just had his ass handed to him, and vaulted over a fence into what Shaw knew was his own garden. No lights were on so she assumed nobody was home, and leapt over the fence and threw her knife, which landed in his thigh. He screamed and fell to the ground, clutching his leg. 

Shaw was about to flee the scene when even footsteps approached and for a second she entertained the fantasy that they might be Root’s, but before she could even think to run away something small and cool was pressing into her spine between the 4th and 5th thoracic vertebrae and somebody with surprising strength had twisted her right arm behind her back.

“Excuse me?” he said in an upper class British accent, identical to Jeremy’s but slightly older. “Are you the one who did this to my son? Because I want you to know that I caught it on film and can go to the authorities. Or put it on social media, as the kids do these days.”

To prove his point, he released here arm for long enough to show her the video of her throwing the knife at Jeremy, then grabbed hold of her again, rougher than before. She hissed in pain and surprise, then lowered her tone to a growl. 

Meanwhile, Jeremy slowly limped towards his house, which was at the other end of the alley.

“Relax, my dear,” the man said. “I’m not going to hurt you.” Then he tightened his grip on her arm, nearly making her cry out, and whispered, “I bet that's what you told my son.”

“I didn't do anything to your son that he didn't deserve,” Shaw replied calmly, letting her anger simmer under the surface. Anger was good, anger was something she could use.

“And why might that be?” he asked lightly, as if they were discussing the weather on a nice walk and not having a passive-aggressive standoff in an alley late at night.

“He sexually assaulted a girl,” Shaw said. “And I was just making sure he didn't do it again.”

“I was really hoping you wouldn't say that,” he replied. “Because I am going to break your fingers one by one until you agree to confess in court and say that he never did any such thing.” He moved his hand onto hers and began applying pressure to her little finger. “And don't think I won't do it, because that would be the most foolhardy mistake you could possibly make.”

Shaw could almost feel the tendons in her pinkie stretching to the point of breaking so she said, “Never. He doesn't deserve to just walk away from what he did. Well, limp away.”

“Go inside,” he ordered. “And if you try to escape this bullet will end up wedged in your spine.”

He released her arm and frogmarched her into the house through the back door, then locked it behind them and pocketed the key. Shaw was trapped.

“Hello?” a gentle female voice with a strong Texan accent called. “Is anyone here?”

“Yes, I’m here,” the man replied, keeping his gun where it was, “But I’m afraid I’m unable to leave this work.”

“Mr Greer, I’m so sorry to intrude, it's just that the door was open and -”

“It’s quite alright, Sapph. What can I do for you?”

“I just wanted to let you know that I won't be able to tutor Jeremy this evening because I have to go to an award ceremony for my AP calculus class, I’m really sorry.”

“That's not a problem. As a matter of fact, Jeremy is ill at the moment so would have had to cancel anyway,” the man - Greer - replied. He sounded so...smarmy. It made Shaw shudder.

“Tell him I hope he feels better soon,” Sapph said. “I’ll be off now.”

“No problem.”

Greer had just turned his attention to Shaw when there was an earth shattering explosion that shook the chandelier above them. From the sound of it, the majority of the second floor had gone up in flames. But Shaw knew that couldn't be the case, otherwise the whole building would have collapsed. 

“Jeremy!” Greer called as he left Shaw and raced out of the room.

Shaw attempted to pick the lock on the door using a hairpin, but then she heard somebody enter the room so swung round and got them in a headlock.

“Relax, it's me!”

“Root?” Shaw released her then punched her on the arm. “What the hell are you playing at?”

“Come with me now, before Greer gets back.”

“Not until you explain.”

“If we stay I won't be able to explain because we'll both be dead. Do you really want that?”

“Fine.” Shaw followed Root as they snuck out of the house through the front door and headed back to Root’s place.

Root had changed into regular clothes that were far more feminine than she usually went for, but Shaw was still wearing her black vigilante costume.

“Now explain,” Shaw demanded.

“I needed to get to Greer’s computer,” Root said. “So I started tutoring Jeremy as a way to get near it, but Greer was always there.”

“So you aren't actually some Texan damsel with the hots for Jeremy Lambert?”

“No!” Root sounded grossed out. “Sapph is short for sapphic.”

When Shaw didn't respond, she continued. “I have been working with Jeremy for a while, which is how I overheard him and Greer discussing the girl he raped and how to make the charges go away. They have some serious connections, Greer used to work for MI6. But from the sound of it, they have done something similar for one of Jeremy’s scumbag friends. If I could get to their computer, I could find out who it was. When we paid Jeremy a visit, I intended for you to get caught by Greer and distract him long enough for me to get the files I needed.”

“And did you?” Shaw asked.

“I did.” Root showed her a USB stick. “This has the whole thing on it.”

“Huh,” Shaw said thoughtfully. “The only problem with that was the fact that you abandoned me to be taken by that creep without warning!”

“It had to look good or he would know he was being played,” Root defended.

“So you don't think I could have acted? You don't think I would have liked to know what was going on? He had a _gun_ , Root. Pressed up against my spine.”

Root blinked. “He did? I didn't think…” She sat down heavily. “God, I’m so sorry.”

“No, you didn't think. And you should be sorry.” Shaw ran her hands through her hair and took a deep breath. “I can't be lied to again. I can't do this anymore, Root. Goodbye.”

She turned and walked out of the apartment before she could change her mind.

-

Shaw didn't know where to go after that; she was too angry to think clearly so just began walking to try and blow off steam.

Eventually she ended up on Finch’s doorstep, like a stray cat. ‘Might as well say hi’, she thought as she rang the doorbell.

Finch answered it almost immediately and looked slightly confused to see her there. “Miss Shaw. What a pleasant surprise.”

“Can I come in?”

“Of course.” He stepped out of the way to let her in then followed her into the library. 

“What have you been up to since I last heard from you, Miss Shaw?”

They sat down opposite each other at the desk. Shaw felt a little like she was being interrogated by the police. Not that such a thing had ever happened to her. That can be proved.

What could she say? Her friend’s friend had been planning to testify against her rapist, Trent Russell, so he tracked her down and shot her but managed to avoid getting caught. So her friend enlisted Shaw’s help to hunt Russell down and give him what he deserved, but they accidentally killed him. So while covering that up, they decided to make it their business to give scumbag rapists overlooked by the law what they deserved. “Not much. Still kicked out of med school, so things have been a bit slow.”

“As you know, Ernest Thornhill hasn't been in touch since we set up Northern Lights - that's you and Miss Groves - so it's been fairly quiet here also,” Finch said.

‘Yeah, she hasn't been in touch with you,’ Shaw replied in her head. Thornhill was the one giving Root the information on who they administered justice to, but Shaw had a feeling she wasn't the one putting Shaw’s life at risk. That was all Root.

“Although, I did find something interesting on the recent increase in young boys reporting violent assault,” Finch said, pulling up some newspaper articles on his computer and turning the monitor around so Shaw could see.

She glanced over the headlines: Jeff Blackwell attacked by masked assailant, boy attacked on way home, and so on.

Shaw’s heart began pounding, afraid that Finch would know she had been involved. There was no way he would approve, he might even go to the police.

“I have a few theories on who it might be, but there is one that stands out in particular,” he said.

“W-who?”

“Miss Groves.”

Shaw scoffed. “You think Root is behind this? No offence, Finch, but she can't even open heavy doors let alone take down huge guys. She’s a twig.”

“It is true that she seems better with computers than many things but-”

“But nothing. Root isn't this vigilante; I’d have an easier time believing it’s you. I’ll see you when I see you.”

Shaw left the library and walked back to her apartment, grumbling to herself under her breath. “Why did you defend Root, you're not even speaking to Root! Stupid.”

-

Root sat curled up on the sofa in the apartment above the record store. She'd told Shaw it was hers even though it was actually Daniel’s and she was just using it while he was out of town.

With his permission. Kind of.

Well his exact words were ‘don't use the record store to sell weed’ and nowhere in that did it say she couldn't live in his apartment. And she didn't want Shaw to think she was homeless, even though that was technically the truth.

She pulled the blanket closer around her shoulders and held her phone in one hand.

“So I’ve blown it with Shaw,” she said, looking sadly into the camera.

“You have rather,” the Machine replied in a female voice.

Root wrinkled her nose. “You're starting to sound like Finch.” She sighed. “Sorry I ruined Northern Lights for you.”

“Ruined?”

“Well, I’m the brains and Shaw is the brawn. Without her I can't prevent the emergence of a second machine or kick righteous ass.”

“While it is true that Shaw has more physical strength than you, you are still able to carry out missions. Just not awfully violent ones.”

“But I don't want to.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She propped the phone up on the base of a lamp so the Machine could still see her then began pacing the living room.

“I screwed up bad, I know. But Sameen deserves better. She deserves better than me. And I know that I can't undo what I did, but I’m ready to turn over a new leaf. Give me the words and I’ll apologise to her. If she'll listen to me,” Root added darkly.

“It is true that your behaviour towards Shaw was immoral at best,” said the Machine. “And put her in grave danger at the hands of Greer.”

Root rounded on the phone. “You think?”

The machine didn't reply.

“Oh nononono.”

“What?”

“She's going to get caught, isn't she? They're going to prove it was her that attacked Jeremy and from there they'll find a way to connect her to Russell’s murder. Why didn't you warn me?!”

“I did. But you refused to listen. And the only reason I’m speaking to you now is because you have finally come round to my way of thinking. Shaw is safe for the moment, the police don't even know they're looking for a girl. Misogyny is helping us out, believe it or not.”

Root sat down again and picked up the phone. “What do you want me to do?”

“Apologise to Shaw and promise you won't do it again. Then carry on with the numbers. It saddens me how many perpetrators of sexual assault there are.”

“OK.”

“No.”

Root raised an eyebrow. “No?”

“I know what you're doing.”

“And what's that?”

“You're going to go off on your own and do something risky as a way of punishing yourself for messing up. I know you, Root. And I know that is not the way to go about things.”

“You're right,” she said. “But I finally have the information on all the cases Greer has worked on. We can put him away for life!”

“Don't do it.”

“Too late. You shouldn't have told me to keep working the numbers. That’s basically all I’m doing. And I have to do this, it's the only way I can get closure.”

-

Shaw sat down at the table furthest from the window in her favourite coffee shop. Her phone rang and she begrudgingly answered it. “What?”

“Is now a good time, Shaw?” asked the familiar voice of the Machine. Not the ‘Ernest Thornhill’ identity she had constructed for Finch, the real her.

“It’s not a _bad_ time. What do you want?”

“Root is about to do something stupid.”

“She does that a lot,” Shaw said.

“I know. But this time I’m worried she's going to get herself killed. She’s going after Greer alone.”

Shaw spat her mouthful of coffee back into the cup. “She’s doing WHAT?”

“You heard me.”

“I can't believe her. Alright, I’m gonna go save her stupid ass so I can kick it myself.”

“That's the spirit,” said the Machine.

-

Root had read the files again and again, desperately wanting the words to not be real. Greer’s client list inlcuded one named that she’d hoped she would never have to read again: Trent Russell.

Greer was the one that made it all go away, made sure Hanna never got the justice she deserved. The police wrote it off as a skiing accident, even though the partial deafness Root was now living with begged to differ.

So she was going to confront Greer and get him to admit everything. On camera, in front of the whole world.

She poundeded on his door and shouted, “Greer, open up! I have a warrant for your arrest.”

When he opened the door, his face registered recognition swiftly followed by annoyance. “You're the one that burned down my study. Do you have any idea how much that cost to repair?”

“I’m sure you could afford it. Especially with the funds from all the criminal charges you made go away. I read your client list.”

“If you read that then you'll know I can have you escorted away from my door any second I choose.”

“I do know that. But I won't be going anywhere until you admit that Trent Russell murdered Hanna Frey and you covered for him.” Desperation leaked through into her tone. “Admit it, and I’ll be gone. You will never hear from me again. I mena, you'll have to find somebody else to tutor Jeremy but that shouldn't be a problem.”

“I’m afraid that's never going to happen. Zachary!” Greer shouted, and there was the sound of a gunshot from upstairs.

Followed by an searing pain in Root’s shoulder. She cried out and fell to the ground, holding the wound as blood seeped between her fingers.

Greer knelt next to her and said, “Yes, I covered for Russell after he killed Hanna. But you can't prove it. Those files are programmed to be deleted the second after somebody reads them on a computer that isn't mine. Now, there are more bullets where that came from and next time Zachary will aim for somewhere vital. So drop this and go back to being a good little tutor. Do we have an understanding?”

“Oh, we understand each other perfectly,” Root said through gritted teeth, laughing. “You people are all the same. Can't resist an opportunity to explain how smart you are.”

“I don't -”

Root pulled her taser out of her jacket and pressed it against his arm, activating it. He stumbled backwards, but within seconds she heard the sound of a sniper being cocked. 

‘I’ve done it now,’ she thought grimly.

Suddenly the effects of her taser had worn off and Greer was standing over her with a gun, Zachary was probably aiming directly at her head.

And a quick succession of gunshots went off.

Root turned her head and saw Shaw standing outside her car, gun in hand. She had kneecapped Greer, then walked over to him and kicked his weapon into the bushes. “I shot your sniper with a tranquilizer,” she told Greer. “Enough to sedate a horse. And the police are on their way here with evidence sufficient to put you and everyone you know away for several lifetimes. I had a little help from some friends.”

Then she turned to Root and said, “I leave for what, five minutes? And you manage to get yourself shot. You're just a special brand of idiotic, aren't you?”

“Shaw,” Root breathed. She tried to sit up, but her injury complained the minute she tried to move so she just stayed where she was. 

“I was handling it,” she said as Shaw helped her stand up, the pain in her shoulder making the rest of her shake.

“Sure you were,” Shaw muttered sarcastically.

“I was getting ready to make my move.”

“What move, the one to the ER?”

“But I have you now, so I’ll be fine.”

“You do know I got kicked out of med school, right?”

“I’m sure it wasn't because of incompetence.”

Shaw helped Root into the car and said, “I’m driving you to the hospital. And if you try to complain I’ll sedate you too.”

In the passenger seat, Root looked like she was about to pass out. “You came back for me,” she whispered, looking up at Shaw with a small smile that didn't manage to hide her pained expression. “Admit it, you were worried about me.”

“I’m worried about the mission,” Shaw replied.

“You keep telling yourself that, Sweetie.”

-

A few months later

Root knelt and placed the bouquet of flowers in front of the tombstone that read ‘Hanna Frey, beloved friend’.

“Hey, Hanna,” she said, voice cracking. “I can't believe this is the first time I’ve actually come here. I guess I just didn't want it to seem real.” She paused to wipe her nose on her sleeve. “But now Greer is in jail, Russell is gone and everybody knows it wasn't an accident.”

She sat down on the damp soil and sighed. “I really miss you, Hanna. You don't need to worry about me though, I know you were always a worrier. But now we finally got a little more closure, which helped. And I have a lovely girlfriend - her name is Sameen - and I think you'd like her very much. She keeps me in check when I try to do stupid things. And she looks out for me. I’ll come bring you some more flowers later. I love you.”

Root traced the name on the gravestone and slowly walked over to the entrance of the graveyard, where Shaw was waiting for her.

As soon as Root got there, Shaw gave her a huge hug. “I’m really proud of you for doing that.”

“Thanks,” Root said between her tears.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Content warning** : mentions/discussion online stalking which led to murder with a gun.


End file.
